Chapter 3Ruling Wall Street In Pink Pajamas

"You will press your thumb onto this surrender deed today, whether you want to or not."

Early the next morning, the attic door was wrenched open again.

Uncle Richard entered, flanked by a sharp-faced man wearing wire-rimmed glasses—a contract attorney retained by their branch. In Richard’s hands was a thick stack of legal briefs dense with boilerplate text.

Savannah followed close behind, holding a wire cage upside down. Inside, my one-year-old Scottish Fold, Pudding, was howling in terror, his paws frantically scraping against the metal mesh.

The fog of sleep vanished instantly. I sat upright on the cot.

"Put Pudding down," I said, my eyes locking onto her hands.

Richard stepped forward, dropping the heavy document onto an old wooden shipping crate in front of me. He slid a scarlet ink pad across the wood, forcing a patronizing, grandfatherly smile onto his face.

"Now, Molly, look at this nice paper," he cooed. "Just press your little thumb right here, and Uncle Richard will have a flatbed truck full of Swiss chocolates delivered to your door. You can sleep in as late as you want, every single day. Deal?"

I looked down at the document.

The bold header at the top read: "Irrevocable Deed of Gift and Transfer of Equity — Sutton Enterprises".

They genuinely believed Grandfather had only gifted me a nominal two percent stake as an allowance trust. In their cutthroat, corporate mindset, no patriarch would entrust a multi-billion-dollar empire to a four-year-old couch potato. Yet even that minor two percent was enough to complicate their clean coup at the morning assembly. They needed every shred of paper signed before the board convened.

I didn't touch the ink pad. I simply looked up at Richard.

"This isn't an order for chocolates."

The artificial warmth on Richard’s face vanished, replaced by an ugly snarl. "Stop wasting breath on her. She's a toddler—what does she know?"

Savannah stepped toward the small transom window. Outside lay a three-story drop down to the jagged flagstones of the terrace below.

"My patience has run out, Molly." Savannah flipped the latch of the cage and reached inside, wrapping her fingers around Pudding’s neck. "Press your thumb down. Right now. Or I drop this ball of fur, and you can scrape him off the stones."

Pudding let out a choked, desperate whimper, his eyes dilated with sheer panic.

I looked at Savannah’s face, warped by naked greed. For a few sheets of paper, they had abandoned every scrap of human decency.

I reached out my hand, pressed my thumb deep into the scarlet ink, and slammed it down onto the signature line.

The truth was, this piece of paper was worthless trash.

My fifty-one percent controlling interest was anchored in the master trust, and the core documentation was sealed in an ultra-secure vault in a private Zurich depository by Grandfather’s personal legal team. Amending that trust required seven distinct layers of international notarization and biometric verification. A toddler's ink mark on a domestic release form wouldn't even get them past the lobby security desk.

Yet, as my thumb met the parchment, I deliberately dug my nail into the flesh of my thumb. A bead of dark blood welled up, bleeding into the red ink, leaving a raw, stained print over the dotted line.

Richard’s eyes flared with feverish triumph. He snatched the paper away, thrusting it toward the lawyer. "Verify it. Is it binding?"

The lawyer adjusted his glasses, scanning the signature line. "Everything appears standard, Mr. Sutton."

Richard threw his head back, letting out a sharp bark of laughter, and slid the paper into his leather briefcase.

Savannah sneered, dropping the cage carelessly onto the dusty floor. "Smart girl." She wiped her hands with a wet wipe, looking down at me from the doorway. "Come along, little cousin. As a former member of this family, you should come watch. Watch me slaughter the board."